


Approval Ratings

by anotherjadedwriter



Series: Another Lifetime [1]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Cum Inflation, Dom/sub, M/M, Multiple Orgasms, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sexual Exhaustion, casteplay, is that a thing??? idk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-01
Updated: 2015-04-01
Packaged: 2018-03-20 19:22:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3662034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anotherjadedwriter/pseuds/anotherjadedwriter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Zahhak is probably the best member of your crew, and you mean that sincerely. The fact that you've got a shameful little fling going with him is perfectly beside the point, and you're not going to factor that into his approval ratings on his report at all. Probably.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Approval Ratings

He’s quiet, the Zahhak. The kind of quiet that swallows up sound and makes you think you should be whispering, a sort of memorial silence surrounding him, him and his long hair and his blue-ringed eyes and everything. He’s smaller than most of the bluebloods you employ, shorter at least, and he seems wary of actually touching anything.

Which, of course, isn’t to say he doesn’t do his work, he does his and sometimes others’ work with no complaint from his lips, follows your orders to the letter, and has never had any complaint filed on him, not a single transgression that wasn’t investigated and ruled a lie. You halfway wish he wasn’t gunning for a spot in the Imperial Secuwrathy Force, working under )(er )(ighness, since you could use more than two mates that don’t fuck around more often than not.

As it sits, though, he’s got his own internal agenda, snooping around when he’s off-duty and unintentionally pulling your gaze away from your work. He’ll just be standing at the railing, watching the sea or sky or whatever, and your eyes will trail over to him, and you get caught up watching his hair whip around his face or, if you’re being more honest, looking at his ass or legs in his pants.

You are a simple troll, in the end. No rank will change that.

All of these things combined are why you were so surprised the first time he propositioned you. Well, that’s not entirely the right word; he happened to be partnerless for a pail collection that was coming up and asked if you would help him and you agreed. Either way, though, you’d assumed he would try around the ship before going to you, but when you had him pinned under an arm after you’d helped him fill his pails, he’d mumbled blurrily that he might have also been waiting for an opportunity to bring it up with you.

Not that you minded, of course. He’s pailed you a few times since, asking you to be harder with him, rougher, almost pitch but not, with that edge of gentleness that makes it flush in a way you can’t describe.

Which brings you to now. Docked, you’re done with business and giving your crew some time to kick up dust before you head out again, and he’s in your cabin, sitting primly on the edge of your slumber platform, watching you watch him. He’s sweating, wearing only that suit he’s told you, reluctantly, is made to hold back his physical abilities. You guess that explains the circuitry burns.

He jumps when you stand from your chair, follows you with his eyes, and stands when you drag him up by his unbroken horn for a kiss. You purr, pet down his back, and break away, softening your voice enough to speak to him in a whisper.

"You ready, Equius?"

He nods. “Yes, sir. Please.” His voice is this sweet little thing, shy and needy all at once. You could fall for him, if you let yourself. He’s going to head off to do some galactic training soon though, and you don’t even want to deal with that asshole Highblood. God only knows what he’d do if he heard you fell flush for a  _trainee_.

"Good boy." You reply, patting his head. "Sit."

He snaps to attention when your tone shifts, sitting again, his legs pressed together and his hands folded in his lap. You reach forward and push him, and he lets you, falling back until the pressure is released, and you watch him hold himself at a strange angle for a minute to admire not only his form, but how dedicated he is. It’s almost inspiring. Almost, because it mostly just makes you want to fuck him raw.

Yanking him forward by his suit makes him suck in a breath, eyes getting wider and cheeks flushing, never looking up at you. You tug his hair and make him meet your eyes, smiling kindly. “Service your better.” You tug his hair again, because it makes him twitch, and then drop your hands.

"S-sir?" He asks, looking at you all scared and woofbeast-like.

You grab the back of his head and pull him forward, pressing his face into your sheathe and holding him there. “Service me, Zahhak.” Your tone is ice, colder than the one you use for your crew and you feel him shiver.

He doesn’t even have to say “yes, sir”, he just turns his head, mouthing at the outline of your sheathe through your pants, and catches the fly of them between his teeth. You watch him pull them open, his hands twitching at his sides, and sigh when he finally drags his tongue over your sheathe, your pants and underwear pooled around your knees. His face is flushed blue, and you catch on that he likes being held there when you make to remove your shirt and he lets out the tiniest whine you’ve ever heard.

Your hands tangle in his hair and pull, occasionally, make him press forward against the tension to keep lapping at what of your bulge has exposed itself. When you’re maybe halfway out, you tug harder, pulling him back from where he’d been dragging his tongue over your bulge and getting prematerial on his chin. He looks up and swallows, makes a rumbly kind of questioning sound that you decide to allow, and licks his lips.

"I thought I told you," You purr, stroking your thumb over the stump of his broken horn to make him shiver. "To service me. When are you planning on following my order, Zahhak?"

He’s leaning into your hands now, pheromones rolling off him in waves, and he takes a second to respond, even when you pinch the tip of his ear. “S-sorry, sir. Please allow me to continue, please, sir.” He’s actually begging, it’s really kind of a power trip.

You nod, once, and he moves forward, opening his mouth a little and looking determined. It’s cute as hell, but you just slide a hand down his cheek and press his jaw open further, pulling down with your thumb until his mouth is open as wide as it can be. He makes a little noise when you drag him closer, your other hand on your bulge to lead it into his mouth. You pause, and he pushes forward just a little, his hand flat on your thigh.

His lips close around the tip of your bulge and you sigh, pulling him forward by the horn and letting your bulge slide into his mouth. Your bulge slides down his throat a ways and he presses his tongue against the base, his nose pressed to your pelvis and his drool running down his chin. He can’t possibly be breathing as is, but he doesn’t make to pull away, and you realize when he tries to swallow and chokes around you that he’s leaving that to you.

Violet prematerial spills over his lips when you yank him back, growling at the feeling, and pull his mouth open to let him breathe. He’s shivering all over, whining, and you almost tell him that you’re gonna stop. He swallows once, though, and leans in again, just a touch.

"I’m sorry, sir. I can do better; please, sir, let me try again." He’s panting, his face all blue and his eyes filmed with tears and his voice so rough you feel  _bad_ , like, honestly guilty. It’s a really weird feeling. “I’m okay. Please.”

You pet his cheek and nod. “I’ll give you another chance.” You’re still purring, your tone like honey, and he acts like you’ve given him some kind of treat.

He takes your bulge into his mouth again and moves himself forward slowly, eyes half-lidded, until he has you to the base. You grip his horns (what’s left of the one, at least) and start to move him, slowly, on your bulge. He lets you, catching on pretty quick that you’re making sure to give him time to catch his breath when you pull him back before pressing him down again. He does do better, his throat relaxing to where he only tries to swallow a few times, only has to hold your hips to catch his breath maybe twice.

Hands tightening on his horns, you can feel your orgasm trickling down your spine, it makes your breath come shorter and your hips jolt forward to meet him when you pull him down. You groan when you come, holding his nose to your pelvis and spilling, your breath coming in harsh pants as your hips twitch and you come down. He coughs your material down his front when you pull away, his cheeks all flushed and his eyes all watery from how you’ve been treating him. You feel bad for an instant, before he looks you in the eye and presses his palm between his legs.

You react before you think about it, shoving him on his back and snarling. “Did I say you were allowed to touch yourself, Zahhak?” He whimpers, spreading his legs but otherwise not responding. You kick out of your pants and grind your heel into his nook through his clothes. “Do you want me to fuck you? What makes you think you deserve it?”

"Please!" He yelps, pushing his hips against your foot. "Please, sir, please! I, I, I don’t deserve it, please, sir."

You grind your heel into him again, then step back, your bulge plenty happy to get back to work and writhing against your thighs. “You’re right. You don’t deserve it. But, it does make you useful to me.  What else would I do with you?” You purr, watching his thighs shake. You guess you’re pretty good at this. “Don’t keep me waiting. Get naked.” He scrambles to his feet and starts to strip, hands all shakey. You notice that his thighs are slick, his nook wet already. “On your face. I’m gonna fill you up. At least you lowbloods make good buckets.”

He whimpers, crawls onto the platform, and lifts his ass high, his back arched to press his chest into the bed. You climb up behind him, watching his nook flutter and pinching his ass to make him squeak. Once you’re up behind him, you press your knees against his and spread his legs, pushing on his lower back until he’s bent in what must be a very uncomfortable position, and you press your hips up against his ass to let your bulge slither over his nook and press in at it’s own pace.

Luckily (you guess), your bulge isn’t so large that he needs much preparation, since his caste usually gets larger than yours.

(It is cute how he’s short and thick, though, and you make a note to remind him how pretty he is when you’re done with this)

Either way, though, he takes your bulge with no problem, murmuring little ‘thank you’s and ‘keep going, please’s, and you rock into him for a second, just kind of rotating your hips. You don’t mind slowing down, and even if he doesn’t say anything, you want to give him a chance to catch his breath before you continue.

Equius lifts himself a little more, and you take that as a que to move, hands on his hips. He moans when you thrust, his voice still raw and thick, but he only gets louder when you speed up. His nook flutters around you, he chitters, shivers, and you can’t help but yank his head back by his hair so he’ll look at you, and he makes the most amazing sound when you do, and you notice that he’s coming, so you press into him and hold yourself still, gripping his hair hard.

"Say thank you." You hiss, tugging his hair once. "Because I’m not going to make you ask to come."

He swallows, licks his lips, his thighs still all shaking. “Th-thank you, sir. Thank you for letting me c-come.” He kind of pushes back on you when he says that, and follows up with: “Please keep going, sir.” His hair looks nice in your fist.

"Greedy little thing, aren’t you? Just can’t wait to get filled." You purr, dropping his hair and letting him fall to the pillows. "Keep your ass up, pretty little pail."

His voice is muffled when he moans at that, and he stays as still, you imagine, as he can, what with your hips bouncing off his ass and all. He’s good, and you almost tell him so, before deciding that he’d probably want to hear that after he gets what he wants from the scene. It’s a good thing seadwellers (or, at least, the ones you know, yourself included) are made to breed as often as possible, because the way he’s shuddering under you has you working up to another orgasm, your bulge twisting and pressing at his seedflap as you get ready to come.

You growl when you come, pressing yourself forward and curling over him as he claws at the sheets, needy little chirps slipping past his lips as his nook tries to vice on your bulge. At this angle, you can lean in and bite his shoulder, and the noise he makes when you lap at the blood you draw makes you wanna keep him in your bed forever, makes your bulge writhe in him again. He’s doing those helpless little noises he does when he’s close, his limbs all twitching of their own accord and his mouth open to make them, some drool pooling on your pillows.

The air already tastes like sex, you notice it just under the little tang of his blood and sweat on your tongue, and you’re breathing hard and fast, almost drowning his tiny noises out with your panting, and then he seizes up and your hand presses to the side of his head to hold him down, your movements getting faster, pushing him through his orgasm and not stopping, your other hand holding his hips when they fall until you realize that no matter how much he seems to like it, you still shouldn’t lean on his head with all your weight, then you just let his hips fall and pound into him like that, orgasm pooling in your stomach and making your thighs tense to where they almost hurt.

He keens when you come, drowns out your own sigh, his hips lifting to press back to you and his nook fluttering. You realize, vaguely, that he’s coming again, his seedflap absorbing your material and his globes swelling against your bulge. You force your mind to get past the fog of orgasm and speak, your voice smoother than you’d expected.

"You like that, lowblood? You like being my pail, don’t you?" You purr, pressing him further into the pillows when he just makes a pitiful little groan, pushing his hips back at you and letting his tongue loll out of his mouth a bit. "Words, Zahhak."

It takes him a few moments to get the words out in a way you can understand. “Y-yes, sir, I, yes, I do, please, don’t stop.” His voice is so broken, these tears on his cheeks and his thighs tensing and relaxing in irregular intervals.

He’s fucking beautiful like this.

Honestly, you try to respond, you try to tell him you’re going to move again, but all you manage is a grunt, starting fast and hard because at this point your bulge is sore, your globes are sore, and you’re positive his nook must be aching, along with a few other things. He makes some shivery noise when you come in him again, his nook tightening weakly and the rest of him going totally limp. You keep yourself pressed to him, choking off your own noises as your bulge finishes lashing in him, then pulling away to let it retract.

Equius is shaking everywhere, whimpering and looking like he doesn’t quite know what to do with himself, so you gently remove your hand, instead pulling him up to sit him in your lap, kissing at his neck and pressing at his swollen sheath. He moans like a pailvid when his bulge slides out, writhing so much you have to lay on top of him to get to his bulge well. It only takes a few moments of your stroking for him to come, pouring blue material on your bed and sobbing, his whole body shaking as he comes down. You give him a few minutes.

He’s still, breathing deep and looking worn out. You pet his hair back from his face, shuffing a little to turn him on his side. “Hey, Equius.” You coo, pressing a little kiss to his cheek. “You okay?”

He kisses your hand, smiling, and then nods. “My throat hurts a little.” It sounds like it, this harsh whisper.

"Okay. Let’s get you washed up, okay? I’ll carry ya." You purr, pressing your nose into his hair. He rumbles his assent, and you lift him, your own legs a little shakier than you’d like with you carrying him, but it’s just a short trip to your little abulationsblock.

Equius seems more than happy to lean on you, settled in your lap and dozy when you sit on the floor and just let the hot water hit the both of you. He speaks against your ear as you go through his body, asking how each part feels, his lips a sleepy smile and his hair sticking to your chest. It ends up taking a while to wash him, because neither of you really feels like moving, but you manage, scrubbing the material off his thighs and chest and lips and kissing him everywhere as you do.

"You did so well." You sigh, tucking him against yourself when you’re done. "So perfectly. You’re so good, Equius." He purrs, hiding his face in your throat. "You’re cute, too. I almost wanna keep you here."

His lips brush your gills when he speaks and you bite your lip, more than a little instinctual terror running through you, but he’s just talking, moving his mouth to your shoulder. “Thank you.”

Neither of you mention that he’s going to be leaving. It isn’t as though you’re really flushed for him, but you recognize that you could be, if you let yourself. You could fall for him, and that’s another kind of thing when you’re dealing with someone leaving.

About when the water starts to feel less warm, you realize that you’ll have to get the material out of him at some point, as well as move to your bed (thank Kurloz’s weird messiahs for cleaning people), and as you kiss his horn and slide your hand to his thigh, he pulls it away.

"It’s. ‘Sokay." He slurs, his face getting hot on your shoulder. "I’m sore. Can we leave it?"

You kiss his cheek, then his nose, making him look at you. “Long as you let me get it when you wake up. Can’t let you get sick, yknow.” You smile, and he smiles back, meeting you for a little kiss.

You could fall for this one.

He’s still a little shaky when you stand, so you carry him back to bed, wrapping the both of you up in blankets and ignoring how the water makes your gills frill out so annoyingly. He tucks up against you and you trace the raised lump of his seedflap, purring a few octaves lower to lull him to sleep. As ridiculous as it is, just when you’re drifting off, content that he’s asleep already, you wonder if you should factor this into your ratings for him.

If so, you mean, he’s gonna have the best approval ratings of any of your trainees.

**Author's Note:**

> Equius "Cum Dumpster" Zahhak  
> if you enjoyed this, consider tipping me here: https://ko-fi.com/A781PZJ


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